Valerian showed up in shadows—
of sleepless nights, dark woods,
and quiet omens.
She shapeshifts—
like her effects:
soothing one dreamer; haunting the next.
This is how she arrived—
not with clarity,
but dripping in contradiction.
I tried to choose her.
She doesn’t explain.
But I kept showing up.
And then, so did she.
Valerian is not for comfort.
She’ll take your hand,
walk you to the edge—
and show you the dark sea
beyond your waking mind’s eye.
If it suits.
This is the story of that descent—
and what I found, where she led me.
Perhaps you’ve met her too?
—
The First Descent
I was desperate to sleep.
I tried magnesium, sleep hygiene,
all the usual rituals.
Then I tried her.
She didn’t soothe—
she stalked.
Her scent was feral.
Fermented.
Strangely beguiling.
She unfolded herself
in layers of ambivalence.
I learned this the hard way—
through the morning hangover
she gave me
when I didn’t respect
her nocturnal virtues.
That was my first lesson—
she demands reverence,
not assumption.
Meeting the Morrígan
By the time of tea tasting,
I recognised her.
With my eyes closed.
Mind open.
Tea warming my hands.
She arrived:
It’s time to hunker down,
by the fireside.
With rose petals and decay.
A wood hut.
Mulched leaves.
There’s dankness in the air.
Apple pie
and custard,
laced with toasted almonds
and spice.
This is autumn—
Samhain.
A pregnant, liminal space.
A bountiful harvest—
followed by
the horse-drawn carriage of death.
—
To me, Valerian is the Morrígan—
not because she told me,
but because of how I felt her:
Cloaked, paradoxical,
full of omen.
A crow in the shadows.
A whisper at the edge of sleep.
The one who lifts the veil
between this world
and the next.
A predictor of futures,
an agent of death.
She lights the lamp.
Opens the gate.
She is fate.
The Trickster Herb
My herbal apprenticeship required
two immersions on the Isle of Arran.
Each time, we were asked
to walk with a herb in flower.
During my first trip, I chose Dandelion.
But Valerian’s leaves were spotted—
always in the shadows,
on thresholds,
waiting.
She’s not like her namesake sisters,
you know,
the showy red and ashy blonde
that root into stone,
waving from the roadside…
“Cooie!!!”
No.
Valerie is aloof.
On my second trip—
I chose her.
But again, only her leaves appeared.
Why was I chasing her?
I can’t be certain.
Isn’t it nature to want
what we don’t have?
Instead Yarrow took my hand.
And Valerian stalked
as a hooded crow—
watching from the edges of the shore.
Oil & Omen
Yarrow and Valerian were intertwined by now.
So on my return, I ordered both as oil.
Valerian’s scent made me queasy.
I shelved the idea.
Maybe she wasn’t mine after all.
A year on, Yarrow had barged into my life.
And still—no sign of Valerian in bloom.
That summer, admiring my parents’ garden,
a magpie landed on the grass.
Then another—
demanding, loud, open-beaked.
Its mother fed it.
I’d never seen that before.
And I knew.
A message had arrived.
The Scent, The Descent
Back home, I opened my plant ID app.
The notification bell was alight.
A confirmation of an observation:
Valeriana officinalis.
I was bemused.
How could I have been obsessing over this herb—
taken a photo of her—
and not even realised?
But I had.
I had an idea.
I added two drops of Yarrow
and one drop of Valerian oil
to my burner.
I breathed deeply—
because you can’t quite make out
what you’re sensing.
Naturally,
you take your time.
Each breath:
deeper, slower, more deliberate.
Each one,
a step down
into the basement of my dreamland home—
the staircase which leads directly
down onto the seashore.
At high tide, the last few steps:
beneath the surface.
But today,
I hear children playing.
The tide is low
and the weather is stunning.
I’m descending now,
a single rope around my waist.
Yarrow—provides Valerian with a boundary.
Yarrow catches the gate open with her foot.
So the descent can be made—
with a safe route back.
The Message
The next day,
my son had found a small bird—
not moving.
He’d nurtured it to recovery
until it flew away.
He set up his camera in the garden.
He wanted to see if it returned.
The next day, he came in.
“Look what I captured on my cam, Mum…”
Ah yes, I thought quietly.
Magpies.
Valerian was ready—
to feed me.
Valerian and Yarrow journeyed me
to meet my sleeping ancestors.
The message?
Seek their eyes.
They’ve been waiting
for yours.
